To A Teacher

You killed my faith with your clumsy words.
You tortured my beauty with your vulgar knowledge.
You try to define truth for me. When I try to transcend all the norms.
You shape history for me when I could have understood it the way I want.
Why do you exert on singing in rhythm, let me find my own voice, my own rhythm.

Do not trample my temple with hammers of iron clauses.
Lets my ravishing idols remain untouched by the tinge of your stagnant horizons.
Let me live with a streak of hope.
I too, like everyone posses my gods, my love, my beauty.
To a teacher who killed my faith with his clumsy words on a dreary afternoon.